“Sartin,” said Bill, succinctly. “Them two vermin was a-talking about it. A gang of their best men is to lie in the hollow at the Gulch and surround the coach. It ’pears that they’ve had news that some Melbourne gents is a-coming, along, and they calkilate that there’ll be some coin aboard, likewise watches and other gim-cracks, and that the coach will be worth overhauling.”
Varley pondered over this choice piece of information.
“How many?” he asked at last.
“Can’t say,” replied Bill. “I calkilate they wouldn’t take more than they could help; the fewer the better in jobs o’ this kind, you see.”
“Half a dozen, perhaps,” said Varley, meditatively. “What time does the coach pass the Gulch?”
“Nine fifteen.”
“Ah, dark!”
“Yes, dark,” said Bill, nodding. “They could put up the old thing and clean it out, and ride off without a blessed soul knowin’ who did it.”
“They could have done so, yes,” said Varley. “Dog’s Ear is growing clever. But I suppose it is off now? They know you heard them?”
“Not they,” said Bill. “They never knew I was near them when they was talkin’. No, you bet the game is on still, Varley, and you an’ me is going to take a hand, eh, pard?” and he grinned and rubbed his smarting head with that anticipation which we are told is the keenest joy.